


the firstfruits of your harvest

by Bushwah



Series: we the clay [10]
Category: Fake AH Crew (Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cults, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Begging, D/s, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Female Jack Pattillo, Forced Bonding, Gaslighting, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, Interrogation, Massage, Medical Abuse, Non-Consensual Cuddling, Pet Names, Psychological Trauma, Restraints, Running Away, Sleep Deprivation, Stimming, Trans Female Jack Pattillo, Unreliable Narrator, abusive found family, betrayal kink, infantilization, non-consensual domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24650902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bushwah/pseuds/Bushwah
Summary: Michael is hiding something. Jack intends to find out what.
Relationships: Michael Jones/Jack Pattillo
Series: we the clay [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643119
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	the firstfruits of your harvest

**Author's Note:**

> This is an FPF fic based exclusively on the Fake AH Crew lore as set forth by Rooster Teeth Productions. This work owes an additional debt of thanks to Wren wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com and their collab partner Threatie alastair-made-me-undo-it.tumblr.com, posting collaboratively as Wrespawn on the AO3, for their contributions to the FAHC fandom.
> 
> All major characters in this series are abusive, in that they use abuse tactics in conducting their relationships. However, the degree of trauma they inflict depends on a variety of factors, within and outside their control. Abusive acts committed from a position of extreme power, such as Jack's control over the respawn machine (regarding the crew) or the other Fakes' access to it (regarding outsiders), are both particularly damaging and particularly unjustifiable.
> 
> Implied/Referenced Suicide: Michael talks about something that isn't suicide using terms that sound a lot like he's talking about suicide. He doesn't kill himself, or try to, even temporarily.

It comes up in their weekly session.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asks, and Michael visibly flinches.

“I'm sorry,” he says, reflexive, and she pets him, just as reflexive; a reward for not wanting to be afraid.

“It's okay; you don't have to know.” He flinches again at that, and she makes a noise of concern. “ _Do_ you know?”

“I'm sorry,” he says again, but this time he seems to mean it.

“We don't have to talk about that right now, honey,” she says, concession, and resumes her work on his body.

He's both more tense and more twitchy than usual, which she makes note of and works around. It takes time to smooth him out on the bed. She keeps finding hidden little knots of tension, sometimes in spots she thought she'd gotten.

He's shaking, now, the distributed tension giving way to full-body shudders. He doesn't seem to be holding back tears, though.

“How have you been sleeping?” she asks eventually.

“I've been sleeping,” he says, then backtracks: “Some. Not enough. I'm tired. I'm tired all the time. I—” He stops abruptly. There's a brittle stillness to him, something ready to break. He just needs a little push.

“Is there something you don't want to tell me?” she asks, gently inquisitive, as if she's just realized it's a possibility. The stillness holds. “Oh, honey.”

Seconds pass. Her hands on him, one on his chest and one by his hip, _feel_ the switch. Michael maintains a separation between his body and hers as if by instinct. Mikey's first priority is making it disappear.

She obligingly gathers him into her arms. He shivers and presses against her. “Missed you,” he slurs against her collarbone.

“I'm sorry,” she says. She actually is; she knows Mikey needs her, and although she has other plans that make it impractical to see him more frequently, she can sympathize with his frustration. “Is that what you didn't want to tell me, baby bear?”

He shakes his head, barely perceptible, and when she doesn't react, mutters “No.”

She didn't think it was, but it was the sort of thing Michael would plausibly be wanting to hide.

“That's good; thank you for telling me.” Mikey startles at that. She pets his back. He's shivering—again, or still; she hasn't kept track. “You don't have to say it if you don't want to, honey, you know I won't make you.” She shifts him far enough away from her that she can see his face. “I trust you. If I really needed to know, you'd tell me."

Mikey fiddles with her shirt, not meeting her eyes. “Jack, I...”

She waits.

“I've been having bad thoughts.”

“Everyone has those sometimes, baby bear,” she says. “The difference is what you do with them. Do you want to tell me what bad thoughts you've been having, honey?” He's hesitating, and she adds, “You don't have to, sweetheart. If you'd rather just tell me how you feel about them, that's all right. I know it can be hard to talk about what you're going through. I want you to feel safe.”

“I don't,” he confesses. Her hands are on his hips, settling him in her lap. He's wriggling in that way that means he needs to be closer to her, so she rolls him over so that she's crouched over him and he's looking up at her. “I don't feel safe... here.”

“In this room?”

Mikey looks around. “Not that,” he says. “Hotel Quebec. Um, maybe Los Santos, I—I don't know. Jack, I—”

“Yeah?”

“I thought—I thought I didn't want to be here anymore.”

“And now?”

“Now... I don't know. It's like I want to leave, sort of, but I... I don't know. I want...” His next words are a whisper. “I think I want you to come with me.”

His hands have been worrying at each other, and she gives him one of hers. He latches onto it like a child with a toy.

“But I don't want you to have to take care of me,” he adds quickly. “I don't want to be—to be a burden, I—maybe it'd be better if I just—”

She growls, and he stops.

“You aren't a burden,” she says, the growl underlying her words. “You're _good_. I mean, you told me, yeah?”

He nods, tentative.

“You thought about doing it,” she continues, “but you didn't. We can fix this, Mikey.”

She lets that sink in for a moment before continuing with business. “You said you were scared—what are you scared of?”

“I feel like I'm out of control,” he says. She nods, urging him on. “Like... like I could just _do_ something, and not even—I don't want to leave, but I almost _did_ , I wasn't even going to say anything, I—I don't know what's wrong with me, Jack, but I'm so _sorry_ —”

“It's okay, honey. I know now. It's going to be okay.”

His voice is shaky. “But I'm still _scared_.”

She drops it. As much fun as it is to put him on the spot, she does still have practical concerns to get through, and she doesn't want to push him past obedience into the freeze response. “How were you going to do it?”

His eyes close. “Do I have to tell you,” he mumbles, twining his fingers with hers.

“Yes, honey,” she says. “I'm sorry. I need to know.”

This time, she's not sorry at all.

“The next time Kingpin sent me out on recon,” he says. “I was going to, to take my Kuruma and...” He opens his eyes, looking at her pleadingly. “Jack, I've just been so _confused_.”

She meets his gaze, concern. “Where were you going to go?”

“I don't know. Somewhere else. I thought about—I was just going to pick a direction.” He manages a wobbly smile. “Anywhere but here, basically.”

“Mm, but you can't just run away from your problems.” She smiles back, sweetly condescending. Mikey squirms. “If you're confused here, wouldn't you be more confused there, without us?” She twists the knife: “Who would take you in, honey?”

He flinches at the words, as much as he still can, and lets go of her hand.

“You don't have to be in control all the time,” she continues. “We're here for you, honey. Can you think of a way for me to help you with this right now?”

Mikey looks at her where she's sitting on top of him. “I'm not scared right now,” he says.

“Good,” she croons.

But Mikey's still thinking. “Because you're _here_ ,” he argues. “When you're here, I—it's. Better.”

“What is it, honey? What aren't you telling me?”

He cringes. “I—it's nothing.”

“Maybe so. But it's important to my baby boy, so it's important to me.” She speaks softer. “What is it? You know you're safe, you can tell me. You know I'm gonna be proud of you, honey.”

“Y-you don't have to,” he says, and she gives a little nod. Emboldened, he presses on. “I was just thinking—if you wanted to, um, call me? Sometime?”

She doesn't answer right away, and he hurriedly clarifies, “I know I'm asking for a lot, I just—it helps when you talk to me. So I thought—I'm sorry.”

“I'm just thinking,” she says, putting a little defensiveness in her voice. Really it's entirely reasonable for him to suspect her silence is disapproval, but she doesn't want him to think he gets to rush her. He goes silent and still under her.

For her part, she moves them so that she's lying down and he's slumped on top of her. More physical contact makes it harder for him to think, and she doesn't want him to be getting ideas while he's not talking to her.

“So you want me to call you,” she says at last.

Mikey seems to have entirely forgotten the concept. “ _Yes_ ,” he says, “Jack yes, please. Jack.”

She chuckles. “Eager little boy.” She runs her hand over his back, looking for a good place to give him scritches. He shudders and moans at the contact. “Let's try it this week, okay?”

“Okay yes good,” he agrees.

She's not sure he remembers what she said. When she's identified her spot, on his lower back to the side, she pauses. “I'm going to call you this week,” she repeats.

* * *

Michael doesn't know how he got here.

He's lying on top of Jack, he has a boner, and she's scratching his back. It feels... really good, which might help explain the boner. He can't seem to control his body. Something happened. No, nothing happened. No—

“Mikey?” Jack sounds concerned. He hates the nickname. He also hates that she stopped. And sorta hates that he hates that she stopped. “Are you okay?”

Obviously he's not, but also he's _fine_ , he's going to be fine, he's trying to tell her that but he can't make the words come out. He hears someone say “I love you.” It might be him. He doesn't, though. Does he?

“That's okay,” she's saying, “that's good. I'm going to move you, here—”

He feels dizzy, expecting—something, but all she does is turn them over, gently, so that he's lying on his back on the bed. She withdraws, hovering next to him. He's acutely aware she's not touching him. He wants her to. He doesn't want her to.

“And I'll leave you alone, and later this week I'll give you that call.”

He nods. The movement is difficult, like his body doesn't quite have the proportions he expects. His back itches. He wants her to—he doesn't want—

“All right then,” she's saying. “See you later, Mikey.”

No, Michael doesn't know how he got here. But Mikey does.

**Author's Note:**

> Leviticus 23:10.


End file.
